A Giant's Heart
by GrimFairie
Summary: Mark finds love.
1. Chapter 1

**A Giant's Heart**

**1**

He sat alone on a splintered bench, the one her friend's dad had built when she was a kid, and absentmindedly played with his keys. Georgiana's glance turned into a curious stare. It wasn't the inkwork plastered all over his arms, or the way his muscles burst through the cutout holes of his denim vest that had her eyes fixed on him. It had more to do with his expression. Something was lost to him and she wondered what it could be. Rita introduced them last summer and that was as far as it went, a plain introduction. Mark, she recalled, was his name. He had been curt with her then, no doubt he'd be just as curt with her now. So she kept her distance, feeling it better to observe him like someone observing a robin.

But robins weren't a few inches shy of seven feet. They didn't grow dark hair halfway down their backs, or wear bandanas, or ride the noisiest motorcycles, or look like they could take you down with a sudden turn of the eye.

What color were his eyes?

Georgiana sighed and thought, "who cares?"

Someone clinked the dinner triangle and a mob of Rita's relatives rushed to the _grub table_ never minding Grandma Jean or her respirator. Georgiana moseyed by the lone man, wondering if he decided to disregard this summer's BBQ theme on purpose. A straw hat and leather boots would've done the trick. He sniffed some air, and straightening up, put his forearms on the table behind him, trying to give a stranger the impression that he wasn't bothered momentarily. But in that instance, she'd seen up close what she couldn't make out for sure from the tree swing she'd sat on yards away: this man was achy breaky heart-aching.

Georgiana felt her caring side awakening. Maybe he needed someone to lend him an ear. She stopped abruptly and made as if she'd just remembered him from last year's BBQ. "You're Mark, right?"

He gave a nod then got up and ambled toward the house, reminding her of the unfeeling 'hi' he gave her the previous year and the rude turn of his back which had accompanied it.

If that wasn't the rudest thing to do to someone…Then again, a person undergoing heartbreak pangs couldn't be expected to act friendly when he felt otherwise, she concluded.

Deciding not to give it another ounce of consideration, she picked up a tin plate and got in line behind Rita's brother, Ernie, who probably thought tucking his pants into his faux snakeskin boots and wearing a red kerchief around his neck made him look authentic. It didn't. When he realized she was behind him, he gestured with his hand for her to take the place in front of him. Georgiana declined politely. She knew he had a thing for her and she also knew that if she gave him the opportunity, he'd lustfully eye her body up and down, something more insulting than complimentary, in her opinion.

"Trent's wrestler friend's in town," Ernie said, loading up his plate with macaroni salad. "Have you seen him? He's real huge!"

"I don't think I have."

Ernie made a noise through his teeth, as if to express shock. "The guy's like eight feet tall," he continued, "how could you NOT have seen him?"

The man was quite the exaggerator. Eight feet? "Nope. I don't think I've seen him."

"He's the Undertaker…"

Ernie went on and on, relating things about the man any crazed fan with an internet connection could find out for himself. Usually, she didn't care much for gossip, either changing the topic or leaving the conversation when someone had the bits on someone else, but something about Mark intrigued the blue-eyed florist enough to follow Ernie to the nearest hay bale and learn more about the man…whether true or not.

"You gonna eat your cornbread?"

There were basketfuls of the stuff at the grub table, which was partly the reason she didn't protest when he snatched it off her plate. Hiding her disgust, Georgiana watched him wolf it down in two bites. "So he likes bikes and blondes…" Rita had mentioned something of the kind after their brief introduction last summer. "_He likes his Harley's loud, and his women blonde…"_ What a shallow man, was the thought that entered her head that moment.

"I like mine with short, black hair and eyes so blue you think you're looking up at the sky on a clear day," said Ernie, staring at her dreamily. "You look nice in that skirt. You wear western wear well."

Georgiana blushed out of sheer repulsion. Perhaps it was time to find another bale on which to sit and enjoy the remainder of her meal. Besides, she had an idea that Ernie would ask her out any second, the timid school boy facial expression was giving him away. So to avoid mutual embarrassment, she excused herself, reassuring him that she'd be back after she refilled her mason jar with lemonade. When she didn't come around, he searched for her and found her chatting away with Rita and Trent who were manning the BBQ pit.

Rita nudged Georgiana and said in a low voice: "He owns four restaurants now."

As if that piece of information would make Ernie the slightest bit appealing to her. "Since when have you known me to like a man for what he's got in his pockets?"

Rita wanted Georgiana to be her sister-in-law, and beginning a courtship with her brother, one that would eventually lead to marriage, was the only way to accomplish this. But no amount of money could ever persuade her to spend eternity with an out-of-shape, middle-aged man who tucked his pants into his fake cowboy boots. Perhaps if she said it bullhorn loud, Ernie would take it in and chew on it, start the process of forgetting of her.

So maybe Mark wasn't the only shallow person there today.

"He's a great catch," Rita went on, "you're gonna regret it when someone hooks him, one of these days."

That'll be the day I sigh the biggest sigh of relief, she thought to herself.

"Georgie, have you met my friend, Mark?" Trent asked.

Rudey? Sure she met Rudey. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good, then you know what he looks like," he said, flipping patties. "Can you go find him and tell him the food's on?"

"Of course I can."

"I'll come with you."

Trent grabbed Ernie's arm. "Turn these rib slabs for me."

Ernie looked over at the woman. "Wait a minute. Okay?"

Georgiana pretended her ears were clogged and kept walking away. Another encounter with the giant. This would be _fun_.


	2. Chapter 2

**I want to thank you for the kind review. My first. Yea! You made my day. Thanks also to those who are favorite-ing and following me. I just love being followed. ;)**

**2**

Every time he saw her, he lunged at her with all fours, driving her back a step or two, thinking she was some kind of bouncy wall created for his pleasure. Today was no different. Luckily, the paw prints on her faded denim skirt were plain mud, not the other thing he was so fond of playing in most of the time. Georgiana _ughed_ her way to the bathroom, every now and then gritting a cussword at the collie mix whose behavior landed him in doggie jail**—**Trent's toolshed. The only kind of pets she liked were the ones printed on fabric or those made of ceramic. Animals just weren't her thing.

The patches of watered dirt she currently tried to scrub off her skirt kept expanding, making themselves more evident, taunting her, it seemed. How was she supposed to go find _Rudey _looking like that? And why did she even care? She didn't know why. All she knew was that she did. The third impression's the maker or breaker, she joked inwardly.

"One of these days I'm gonna crossbreed a Venus flytrap with a Rottweiler," she said, imagining the dog cowering at her words. "Then I'll feed you to it, you dumb mutt." Frustrated, she gave up the task. Looking into the mirror, she swept the bangs away from her eyes then finger-combed the stray strands into place. Maybe next week she'd get a trim. It had grown too long for her taste.

"She's not getting another dime out of me."

Georgiana was startled by the husky voice that suddenly penetrated the air. Was it Trent's brother, Nathan, or Rita's cousin, Maynard? Both spoke in a hoarse tone, though not as deep or mean-sounding. She moved to the doorway to alert whoever it was of her presence. Obviously, the person needed a little privacy and thought he was alone. It certainly wouldn't do to have someone think she was some kind of snooping eavesdropper.

"The hell we're going to court over this…"

Mark.

She clamped a hand over her mouth when he closed the bedroom door, giving himself a bit more privacy as he verbally pummeled whoever was on the line, at the same time, unknowingly keeping her inside and revealing a small part of his personal matters to someone he couldn't even consider an acquaintance.

"…I pay you to handle this shit for me, so handle it."

Somehow revealing her presence didn't seem like a good idea. For one thing, she'd heard**—**albeit unintentionally**—**something bordering on sensitive, if not exactly that, and then he had such a pissed off look about him. This coupled with his reaction earlier, wouldn't make for a pleasant situation, at least not for her.

Thankful to Rita for having a rug on the floor that muted the clacking of her boot heels, she went in and grabbed a set of the thickest towels she could find and pressed them against her ears. If she didn't hear anything, she couldn't be deemed an eavesdropper. Why it was ever important for this man to not think badly of her, she couldn't explain. It just was. Ernie might've had a hand in it, making him out to be this godly wrestling hero. Last summer, she didn't even bother to watch him on TV after she met him and found out what he did for a living. After hearing Ernie, things changed. And knowing he had a penchant for blondes didn't discourage her at all, either. Heck, natural blondes were rare; Miss Clairols could be found all over the place like weeds. She could just as easily go out and buy a bottle… But she didn't finish the thought. Where was this groupie mentality coming from? This wasn't her.

A mellow woman with simple needs, she lived in the loft above the flower shop she kept afloat out of the love she had for her husband who slept in his grave. Don was irreplaceable. This became more apparent to her when she began dating after years of mourning. No, there was nothing any man could offer her heart. The rarity of what she and Don shared, both intimately and spiritually, went with him when he took his last breath.

So why did she still have those towels pressed against her ears like her reputation depended on it where that brawny man was concerned? She convinced herself that it was just her courteous side showing through and nothing else.

After several minutes, she slunk to the doorway and peered into the room, letting out a sigh when she didn't see him there. She put the towels back on the shelf, fluffed them up a little, and took a whiff of the scented candle on the sink counter, wanting to know if the honeysuckle in it smelled like the real thing. It didn't. In the bedroom, she sat down at Rita's vanity and rummaged through her makeup drawer for a sweet pink lipstick shade. Georgiana put the tube to her mouth just about to apply it when her vision diverted to the image reflected in the mirror. She hadn't worn blush today, but she'd stake her business and bet that her cheeks were painted with the reddest natural blush ever known to woman.

The man hadn't left. Instead, he sat on the cushioned seat in the window alcove, jaw set, eyes focused on her unyieldingly. Telling him she'd plugged her ears with towels out of courtesy sounded more lame than true, at the moment. So she did what any rattled person in her position would've done**—**she got up and scrammed.

Despite the situation, he couldn't help cracking a smile at the way she darted out of there, so fast and scared, he swore he saw dust puffing up behind her…or was it the dirt from her skirt? Whatever it was, at least she got him to stop thinking about his wussy attorney and money-chomping ex-wife for a few seconds. To keep from stewing in it all over again, he went out and socialized, something he wasn't too much in the mood for today but felt it vital to his sanity. It was either that or he'd have to dismember someone.

A woman, unfamiliar to him, beckoned him over to her table. Mark turned the invitation down by pointing a finger in Grandma Jean's direction, meaning he'd intended to visit with the elderly woman. It may not have been the case at first, but he owed her gratitude for being nearby. Making new acquaintances and engaging in forced small talk were right up there with a raw tooth extraction, presently.

As expected, Grandma Jean gave him an earful, scolding him for being too mean to those sweet, young boys in tights on TV, warning him not to roll his eyes so far up his head because they might get stuck up there someday, she even made him return his bottle of beer for a nice, cold glass of water, and got him to sneak her a brownie from the dessert table. She did most of the talking and he did most of the listening when his thoughts weren't wandering.

He made the usual rounds, visited with friends and Trent's relatives, caught up on the latest, giving the impression that he was interested in finding out so-and-so graduated this year or that some other's dad had a spastic colon... When idle chat got boring, or rather, when he got tired of answering inane questions about wrestling he'd no doubt answered times before, he returned to solitude, his beautiful mistress.

Only, like before, he wasn't completely alone.

She sat on a weathered swing, the one Trent's father-in-law built for Rita when she was a kid, and ate apple pie from a glass jar, seemingly enjoying every forkful. A breeze came through and blew her crushed cowgirl hat away, exposing her short crop, the front longer than the back. It surprised him a little since he'd already pictured a knot or something like it beneath. It surprised him even more when he realized, that for the past ten minutes, he hadn't even thought about putting an ax to his ex-wife's boyfriend's skull.

The hat must've been made out of paper the way it drifted down the hillock, as light as tumbleweed. Though he did the gentlemanly thing and picked it up, he didn't carry it through by hiking the short distance to her and giving it back.

It took her a while to figure out that she was missing something. Confused, she searched her immediate surroundings, still unaware of his presence, or that she was being the root of his amusement. His chuckle turned into a laugh when she looked up and inspected the tree branches. "_Did a squirrel take it?"_ he imagined her thinking.

Mark whistled**—**short but loud enough to get her attention**—**then looked away. The hat was on the table, if she wanted it, she'd have to come and get it.


End file.
